


a warm place

by nezstorm



Series: hiss off verse [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Consensual Underage Sex, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Riding, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 03:24:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17216096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/pseuds/nezstorm
Summary: Peter eases him into it all, introduces him to things, shows him all the amazing things they can do before they go all out. He teaches Stiles pleasure and it feels exhilarating to learn how to give it in return.





	a warm place

**Author's Note:**

> this is the last part of the verse. do keep in mind that this is a repost of a story that i wrote 4 years ago. much has changed since then. 
> 
> also, i couldn't handle editing the sex scene. i ain't made for this. 
> 
>  

Despite being a cat for only two weeks it takes Stiles some time to get used to his human body again. There's some residual sense memory, a preference for reclining in higher places, though not too high. Walking on two legs isn't a problem, nor is using his hands. He simply needs to learn to balance himself again without a swishing tail at his back. He doesn't miss it at all though.

 

Well, not much.

 

His time as a cat left him even more tactile which is something he tries to curb for the first few days back in his skin. He's not very successful though, leaning close against his friends, touching them however briefly without even realizing it and the wolves don't protest at all. They're more than happy to indulge in it in fact. 

 

Even Derek seems to frown at him less when he throws an arm around the Alpha's shoulder. He still tenses up sometimes, but with the whole pack working to lower his defenses Derek's demeanor softens a bit and he starts touching them all back. Win - win. 

 

It would seem that Stiles being a cat did have some positive side effects.

 

Like him and Peter.

  
  


\--

  
  


It doesn’t seem to come as a surprise to anyone at all the way Stiles and Peter simply just gravitate together these days. The entirely different way they touch. There are no talks and no announcements, just Stiles grinning sheepishly at Scott when his best friend finds Stiles hanging off Peter’s back as he reads over his shoulder. He might have been nuzzling into Peter’s neck, a leftover feline habit (he claims)  that he didn’t mind at all, and Peter might have been angling his neck to give Stiles more space.

 

Scott just swatted at Stiles’ shoulder, told him he’s happy as long as Stiles is, and pointed a threatening finger at Peter before letting them be. Stiles’ dad was a bit more reluctant to accept it. But he was still too relieved to have Stiles back and with Stiles explaining how it was Peter that brought him back he simply chose to put a bullet in Peter’s kneecap as a reminder and a warning, and told them to keep it away from his poor ears.

 

And that was that.

  
  


\--

  
  


They keep to Peter’s bedroom instead. Because Stiles is familiar with it, feels safe there, and Peter likes the way Stiles’ scent mingles with his and permanents the air.

 

The fact that Peter’s bed is much bigger and more comfortable than Stiles’ is just an added bonus.

 

It does take a while for them to get to that point, because Peter doesn’t press and Stiles’ body still feels new. Because it all is new and a bit scary and Stiles wants, but he also wants to be absolutely sure.

 

Peter eases him into it all, introduces him to bliss, shows him all the amazing things they can do before they go all out. He teaches Stiles pleasure and it feels exhilarating to learn how to give it in return.

 

Peter seems satisfied with it all: with how eager Stiles is, how fast he learns, how he initiates new things at times.

 

He murmurs sweet encouragements into Stiles’ ear, his mouth, against his sweaty skin at all times. 

 

Things like: "Easy, yes. Just like that, darling, just like that." and "Don't rush, there's no need. We have all night." or "Circle your hips, like that, yes. Yes,  _ Stiles _ , you're doing so good."

 

It drives Stiles a little mad, makes him a little more eager each time and soon enough he’s fed up with waiting and takes matters in his own hands.

  
  


\--

  
  


They’re dressed up, for once, a night out at an Italian restaurant with Peter laughing at Stiles for getting pasta sauce on his cheek and Stiles stealing sips of Peter’s wine. It feels right, after they get back to the house, to pull Peter to his bedroom and back against the door. To kiss him like there’s no need for air and whisper “I’m ready,” in his ear.

 

Peter doesn’t ask him if he’s sure, doesn’t stall. He just captures Stiles’ mouth again and kisses his breath away.

 

He pushes away from the door, leads Stiles to the center of the room as if he has a plan in mind.

 

And maybe he does.

 

A hand cups Stiles’ neck as another deftly works the buttons of his shirt open. It feels like time has stopped: looking into electric blue eyes that are blown up dark now, so hungry and wanting, a curve to Peter’s mouth because Peter is never not smirking even if just a little. 

 

He takes it all in as he’s slowly unraveled, his shirt finally falling open and skin breaking out in goosebumps as Peter pushes it off one side, baring his shoulder. Suddenly Stiles feels like he’s never been this exposed.Never this naked around anyone and it’s just his shoulder, just the curve of his neck peppered with slow, gentle kisses. Just his collarbone nibbled at, his skin moist under Peter’s warm breath.

 

He’s helpless but readily surrenders to it all, following the hand still curved at his throat and arching his neck, opening up to that hot mouth. Gasping softly as it works a mark just under the hinge of his jaw, as a thumb flicks at his nipple.

 

He opens up and lets it happen, slips his shirt off the rest of the way and reaches out, reaches for Peter’s.

 

Peter aids him, momentarily losing his hold on Stiles to shuck his own shirt off. And Stiles would laugh at the urgency, but Peter kisses him right then: hot and wet and craving; engulfing. Absolute. .

 

He tastes of earth and cooper and Stiles can’t help but lean in for more, press for another taste. He moans when Peter rewards him with a nip to his bottom lip, as Peter tugs at it just as he tugs Stiles closer. Has them flush together. Skin on skin.

 

He’s warm. He’s so warm against Stiles. All hard muscle and soft hair under Stiles’ roaming hands and it’s intoxicating; being allowed to touch. To get his fill. He loses himself in it, in the addictive kisses and the brush of Peter’s hands. And it’s so good, so good that his breath barely hitches when Peter reaches for the fly of his jeans.

 

He does break away for Peter’s mouth though, looks down between them instead as he watches Peter open his pants, as he reciprocates and unzips Peter with shaking hands.

 

Peter doesn’t help him this time, doesn’t take over. Instead he drops his hands and lets Stiles direct for the moment. Lets him take his times in pushing his hands into the back of Peter’s boxers and sliding both underwear and pants down, as far as they’ll go with both of them standing pressed close.

 

When Peter doesn’t make a move to strip Stiles he shucks his own garments, movements a bit jerky as he kicks them off and away; until he stands naked before Peter, bared to hungry blue eyes.

 

It's not the first time, not even the second, but it still feels new to be like this with Peter.

 

Peter’s gaze feels hot against his skin as he takes him in: all his curves and dents, imperfections and scars, his dotted skin. It doesn’t intimidate him though, doesn’t make him want to cover up anymore because the look is appreciative. Dark and heavy,  _ wanting _ and Stiles closes the distance before Peter can reach for him.

 

He arches into Peter as they slot together and it’s a near perfect fit, perfect heat and it only gets better when he grinds his hips forwards and Peter grabs fistfuls of his ass to hold him close, urge him on.

 

He could probably keep doing this, just rock against Peter and come with his mouth caught between Peter’s teeth. But then there’s a finger rubbing over the cleft of his ass, slipping in between his cheeks and teasing in slow circles and Stiles needs so much more.

 

Peter seems to know it too because he keeps at it, circles his rim with a fingertip. So gentle it makes Stiles want to scream and push; and push he does. A back and forth and it’s maddening, but Peter finally relents and lets go.

 

And Stiles would be embarrassed at his own needy whine, but Peter’s there to shush him, kiss him calm before he finally slips out of the pants pooling at his knees. He catches Stiles’ hands and Stiles follows him as Peter walks backwards towards his desk chair. As he nudges Stiles around and pulls at him again until he’s in Peter’s lap, back flush with Peter’s chest.

 

Stiles wants to ask, wants to know what he has in mind, wants to whine at that he won’t get to kiss Peter properly like this.

 

But then there are teeth at the back of his neck and Peter is pulling lube out of his desk drawer and Stiles falls back against him with a moan.

 

There’s a warm hand rubbing his belly, moving over his inner thigh and it grounds him: the comforting touch, the easy caress. He doesn’t realize he’s rocking his hips in a slow grind until Peter growls against his nape, his fingers digging into the meat of Stiles’ thigh. Peter rocks right back into him making it Stiles’ turn to groan.

 

He dimly registers the sound of the bottle cap opening, Peter cursing as liquid spills over the top of  his desk because he seems unable to release his hold on Stiles. Stiles would laugh at how sloppy it is, at how eager for it all Peter is, at the loss of composure.

 

But then there’s a slick finger trailing down his other thigh, moving past his balls and down, down until it rubs a slick circle against Stiles’ hole. 

 

It makes his hips buck, his back curving up and away from Peter’s chest and for a moment he’s unsure if he wants to arch into or away from Peter’s fingers. But Peter’s mouth is back on his neck, breath hot and wet as he murmurs encouragements. His hand is heavy and safe on Stiles’ abdomen until he feels anchored again and sinks back in. Peter’s fingers still working on relaxing him there.

 

It takes a moment, but Stiles finally feels himself opening enough for Peter to slip his finger in and he feel so different from when Stiles does it to himself. It’s a bit strange, but also so much better and Stiles gives in completely.

It’s a process and not exactly without bumps. It gets easier though, better, so much better with every finger added, that by the time Peter is three fingers in Stiles is already begging to be filled with something else.

 

He refuses to be ashamed of the way he whimpers as Peter eases his fingers out, at the ache to be filled again. Instead he just works his hips back and forth over Peter’s lap until Peter is growling in his ear and grabbing for Stiles’ wrist to spill lube over his fingers. 

 

Stiles doesn’t stop to think, he just pushes himself to his feet and slides higher up Peter’s chest at the same time as Peter slouches in his seat. Until Stiles can hook an arm around Peter’s shoulders and press his nose against Peter’s temple. Until he can reach under himself and wrap his fingers around Peter’s cock.

 

He feels hot and heavy in Stiles’ hand, hard and thick. Stiles aches to have him inside. He makes good work of slicking Peter up though, takes his time working him up just as Peter worked him before. He muddles a breathy chuckle against Peter’s hairline when Peter bites at his chin and tells him to stop or it’ll be over before it starts.

 

“Little tease,” Peter calls him making Stiles laugh.

 

He stills his hand though, holds Peter’s cock in his palm as strong hands grip under his thighs and lift him up, keep him steady as they work together on lowering him onto Peter. 

 

It’s electrifying. So much more than Peter’s fingers, so much hotter, fuller. Just so much more.

 

Stiles has a death grip on Peter’s shoulder as Peter slips into him inch by slow, steady inch.

 

By the time Stiles is finally sitting flush in Peter’s lap they’re both panting for breath, a fine sheen of sweat covering them both. Stiles kisses a bead of moisture off Peter’s temple, gasps as Peter turns and leans up to catch his mouth.

 

The kiss is all teeth and need, a calming to the storm as Peter fights to keep still and give Stiles time to adjust. But Stiles doesn’t need time. He needs Peter to move and fuck him good like they both want him to.

 

So he stands on his toes and works his hips up until just the tip of Peter’s cock lingers inside of him. Then drops down. They groan in unison and it’s all Peter seemed to need to finally move. 

 

He sets a rhythm, lifting Stiles up with the hands gripping at Stiles legs and Stiles already relishes the marks they’ll leave on him. The sound of skin hitting skin fills the room, combines with the heavy pants and barely suppressed moans, with Peter telling Stiles how good he’s doing, how amazing he feels.

 

“You feel so good, so good like this.”

 

“That’s it, that’s it. So beautiful.”

 

Stiles tries to rock with him, work his hips to match Peter’s thrusts, circling them and meeting Peter halfway. Encouraged by Peter’s words, by his groans. 

 

He doesn’t really register Peter’s hands slipping from under him, leaving him to set the tempo as they roam over his chest. He does feel it when a palm rubs over his nipple, he does moan when the other hand closes around his cock. But he’s too busy moving, too taken with the pleasure of having Peter so deep inside. Of Peter surrounding him like this.

 

He feels cradled in his grip, secure in his hold and it’s almost ridiculous how that more than the hand jerking him off, more than the dick filling him to the brim, how the way he feels held by Peter is what brings him to the cups of orgasm.

 

He blindly searches for Peter’s lips, muttering Peter’s name until he finds them and kisses his release into them. Sitting heavily in Peter’s lap as he comes and comes until he’s loose and pliant and so warm.

 

Peter kisses him through it, shushes him softly as he grabs at Stiles’ legs again and fucks into him in a ragged rhythm, as he chases to join. And Stiles would help, tries to move with him at first. But it feels too good now: Just being used like this, handled as Peter grinds into him and finally stills, hips jerking as he pumps into Stiles.

 

They sit slumped like that for long minutes catching their breath, Peter rubbing Stiles’ come into his skin. But Stiles feels too blissed out to protest, too satisfied to feel even the slightest bit disgusted by it.

 

All he feels is warm and good and still so pleasantly full. He lets Peter kiss him through the haze: a lazy soft thing of a kiss that has something very close to a purr rumble in his chest.

 

It makes Peter laugh, nip at his nose.

 

“Still such a cat,” Peter teases.

 

“You’re lucky I don’t have claws anymore,” Stiles mutters as he nuzzles into Peter’s cheek, still amazed that Peter lets him.

 

Peter hums at the comment and even with his eyes closed Stiles knows he’s smirking, the bastard.

 

“Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind you scratching at my back as I fuck you into the mattress.”

 

And that, well, is a really hot idea.

 

“Get me to bed. Now,” he demands.

 

Peter just laughs and kisses him silent.

 

Oh well, in a moment then.


End file.
